


Discoveries

by aj_in_nova



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-14 08:59:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8007142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aj_in_nova/pseuds/aj_in_nova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bitty learns some things about the NHL, and Jack learns some things about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discoveries

Three games in three cities in five days really wasn't so bad. At least this trip hadn't involved any time zone changes. Even so, he could sense the fatigue setting in — and it wasn't even halfway through the season. It was a relief to walk through the apartment door and catch a faint whiff of warm pastry. He set down his bag in the entryway, locked the front door, and looked around for his boyfriend. Not in the kitchen — it really was too late for him still to be baking — ah, there was a bit of blond hair visible on the arm of a couch.

Jack walked into the living room, where Eric had set aside his schoolbooks and was waiting for him. "Hey," he said drowsily.

Jack smiled. "Hey. I'm glad you're here."

"Hungry?"

"No. Ready for bed. I had been hoping this trip would get us an off day for tomorrow, and I was right."

"I know; the beat reporters usually mention that on Twitter. Man, you think _your_ travel is rough, but at least you've got charter flights and an equipment crew... they really have to struggle sometimes. But, um, at least there weren't any weather delays."

"True. Um... coming with me?" Eric smiles and follows Jack toward the bedroom.

Once they're in bed — just holding each other close, because it honestly was late, plus they had the whole next day to spend together — Eric asks, "How are you feeling, sweetheart, really?"

"Okay. Tired. You know how it is."

"Well, hardly. College hockey doesn't exactly compare."

"Don't sell yourself short, Bits!"

"You know already that I wasn't really much of a hockey fan before I got to college. I didn't really know anything about NHL culture, but I've been doing some reading."

"What do you mean?"

There was a fading scab near the point of Jack's chin where he'd been hit with a puck several days earlier. Eric lightly ran a fingertip underneath it. "You said you could have gone back in the game."

"Well, yeah, I really could have," Jack replied, puzzled.

"But any player in the league is always going to say that. You could have been holding every one of your teeth in your own hands and you'd have been asking to go back in. Can you please try to maybe remember that I, at least, would rather know what's really going on than what fits your persona?" Eric bit his lip. "Sorry, I don't want to sound like I'm scolding you, I just... kinda feel like you want to keep me from worrying, and — well, there's no way to keep me from worrying. But actually knowing the truth will keep me from imagining worse."

Jack was silent for several minutes, not meeting Eric's eyes. Eric fought internally to keep from saying anything.

"I didn't realize that was happening. I promise I'll try, but it's going to take some adjustment." It has been habitual, for such a long time, to be modest and humble and selfless.

Because "hockey is a team sport," and because no individual player matters more than the whole team does, and because flashy guys could be lambasted by the media _and even downgraded by scouts_ (either outcome would have been devastating to him when he was a teenager; the fear of both eventually forced him to be so closed off that he had nearly forgotten for a while what his own personality even was like).

And it had been so long since there was anyone he was willing share very much with, much less someone he actually _wanted_ to be completely open with. "Sorry. You're probably going to have to remind me a lot."

Eric smiled wryly. "Thank you, sweetheart. I apologize in advance for nagging you about it."

"You really don't have to worry, though."

"I can't _not_ , honey — you have a dangerous job, that's just a fact."

"But it's not like I'm in the logging industry... or the military..."

"Yeah, but just because it's basically entertainment doesn't mean it isn't still risky." He sighed. "Sorry, I don't mean to get fretful. I — gosh, I still do a double-take when I see you not wearing a fishbowl."

"I hate to make you fret, _mon ange,_ " he said, tracing one hand lightly over Eric's shoulder.

"You are not. I knew exactly what I was setting myself up for." He sighed, sounding frustrated. "And this kind of got out of hand. All that I wanted to ask is that you open up to me a little."

"So? You're saying what's on your mind. _I_ knew what _I_ was setting myself up for, too."

Eric ducked his head, blushing self-consciously. Jack kissed his hair and pulled him tighter.

In actuality, they were both still finding things out about each other. Yes, they had known each other for more than two years — as teammates at first, then as friends after a while, and as boyfriends for the past few months — but there just hadn't been all that many private moments when they were at college together, and there certainly hadn't been enough opportunities for in-person conversations since they'd started dating. Much less the genuine dates that a couple might have been able to have if they weren't keeping their relationship secret. And if they were each being perfectly honest with himself, they were both still finding things out about themselves, too.

After a long moment, and without checking that Eric hadn't fallen asleep, Jack spoke again. "I could have gone back in the game, but I was still in a — uh, some pain, so, uh — it's just as well they told me to stay out."

Eric frowned slightly, puzzling it out in his half-asleep state, and then turned his head up as his face broke into a wide, bright grin.

++++++

Hockey fandom was buzzing about a bruising, not-entirely-legal hit that one player had laid on another during one of the previous night's West Coast games. Everyone had an opinion. Some people pointed out that the two players had played for rival teams in the same junior league. Some others mentioned a playoff game against the players' teams a season or two earlier. Eric, in his ongoing effort to learn more about the league and its inner workings, brought it up during that night's skype call with his own personal NHL insider.

"I hope you don't mind if I make you talk about work some more, but did you see it?"

"I've seen the replay. I think I'd be out for blood if that had happened to me or one of my teammates."

"So... do you think it was, I dunno, deserved?"

"It's true that some guys do seem to have targets painted on their sweaters... and in most cases they've ended up as marks because of something they did on the ice at _some_ point. It's not a good reason to go after anyone. Grudges really aren't good for the game. And players shouldn't want to go around making enemies within the league anyway — you could get traded onto the same team, or be selected for the national team. But some guys don't learn, or don't care. I don't think I've ever been that sort of player, though."

"Of course not, honey," Eric reassured him quickly.

"I don't especially want to test that by giving anyone another reason to single me out, though."

It was yet another reminder of exactly why their relationship was still a secret, and Eric grimaced.

"Sorry," Jack added.

"It isn't your fault."

Jack sighed, unconvinced. "Anyway, how was that French test?"

 _"Assez bien!"_ Eric replied, reaching for a paper on his desk. He held it up to the laptop camera, showing off the bright red "B" near the top. "You're a very good tutor."

"Nice job, Bits. But I don't think I want to talk about work anymore — mine or yours. Want to talk about you."

"Right. Um..."

"Want to kiss you."

"Ohhhh," Eric sighed, raising a hand to his cheek.

"Probably not there. Little lower." Eric collapsed into his pillows, listening to the sweet nothings coming out of his computer speaker.

++++++

Jack had very nearly gotten dragged into a fight in that night's game, which was a highly unlikely occurrence. Some young minor-league call-up trying to prove his worth to his coaches instead of paying attention to what was happening in the game. Eric was concerned when they spoke on the phone later that night.

"I do understand that you feel like you have to live up to the name on the front _and_ the name on the back of your jersey, but you know that you're not alone out there, right? Your team has your back?"

"It's honestly not about my name, Bits. There are — you'd be surprised how many players there are whose fathers or even grandfathers played in the league — a few guys with cousins or uncles..." Eric raised an eyebrow. "Real, biological uncles. Even a couple whose relatives played some professional sport other than hockey."

"I wonder if that makes things easier?"

"Probably not; just a different kind of challenge. But the point is that pretty much everyone, usually, manages to treat those guys just as another opponent. That's really all I want. And to win. Winning's always more fun than losing."

"I guess this is why I'll never go pro. And why I was able to give up figure skating without too much fuss. I just don't have that kind of competitive drive."

Jack was thoughtful, quiet, and then realized that if he didn't say something soon he was unlikely to be able to say anything at all. "But I'm — it's not —" Jack ran a hand through his hair. "When's the next time I get to see you?"

Eric glanced toward the calendar over his desk as though he hadn't memorized his boyfriend's schedule. "Five days; I'm taking the train down Sunday morning. Or you can come here after your game Friday if you don't have practice Saturday, and watch our game that night."

"All right. This weekend, one way or the other."

++++++

Jack did have practice Saturday, and he also had a plan. Driving onto the Samwell campus, he checked the clock on his dashboard — the game would probably be finishing soon, and the Haus should be empty. The doors were locked, but no one had made him turn in his key after he'd graduated last year, so he headed up to Eric's room to wait. And then had the presence of mind to send a quick text so that there would be no blood-curdling screams when Eric returned and found someone sitting on his bed.

It wasn't that long of a wait. He could hear Eric's voice as he trooped up the stairs, "Really, y'all, I'd rather just get to sleep. It's been kind of a long week."

The door opened and Jack smiled. "Sorry about surprising you here."

"Don't be sorry about that! Are you staying here, or bringing me to Providence?" Eric had reached the bed and was interspersing his words with firm, welcoming kisses.

"I, uh, didn't think that far ahead. I'm not sure how we would get out of here now."

"Sneak out the back door. But we can stay here for a while."

"I guess we'll have to. I just couldn't wait another night to see you."

"Okay..."

"I wanted to thank you, in person, for something you said the other night."

"Oh?"

"About being competitive. I thought about it, and I realized something. You _are_ competitive, but it feels like you're maybe the first person I've known who was fighting _for_ me instead of with — I mean, against — me. Even when I desperately want to win — well, everything — I have trouble believing that I can. There are a lot of guys in my business who've had a lot of expectations piled on them, and for every one of them who accomplishes what people said he would, there are at least a dozen others who are just, y'know, _fine_. I always wondered how they could be okay with falling short of what they were 'supposed' to do."

"Jack, you _aren't_ going to —"

"No, I think I understand it now; _that_ doesn't really matter — I can be satisfied with whatever happens, career-wise, as long as I never fall short of _your_ expectations. That's what's important."

By this time Eric was sitting beside him on the bed, and in the low light Jack could see the sheen of tears in the younger man's eyes.

"Bits, I'm —" He was silenced by slim arms wrapping tightly around his neck.

"You have been — you are — so much more than you believe, or than I hoped. You couldn't possibly fail to live up to my expectations, Jack. You're perfect, and I love you."

Jack closed his eyes and held tight. It was true, he realized — if he had a long, no more than competent, championship-free hockey career, he would be fine with that as long as he and Bitty were together, and never forgot to have each other's backs.

**Author's Note:**

> "Check, Please!" is the creation of Ngozi Ukazu.


End file.
